


Many Things Can Happen When the Government Isn't Looking

by Uozumi



Series: Tumblr fic prompts from various fandoms [1]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: For a Friend, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, i put all the warnings in the notes, rent boy!jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a rent boy becomes a low level politician’s new housemate, neither can anticipate that after many missed opportunities, they will embark on a partnership that lasts through political success and failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie  
>  **Genre** Alternate Universe/Drama/Political/Slash  
>  **Rating** R  
>  **Word Count** 9,157 (17,619 total)  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** When a rent boy becomes a low level politician’s new housemate, neither can anticipate that after many missed opportunities, they will embark on a partnership that lasts through political success and failure.  
>  **Warning(s)** medical peril (hypoglycaemia, heart attack), unseen but implied attempted rape, aftermath of drugged without consent, blood, bruises, lead up to sex but not the actual sex, almost sex but not quite, language, spoilers for all series and specials of _The Thick of It_  
>  **Notes** This started as the prompt for rent boy!Jamie and Malcolm/Jamie. As I got to the fic’s intended ending, I wondered what might happen if Jamie’s past ended his political career. I threw in some Malcolm related headcanons I talked to Ruby about and ended up with a very long fic that spans over twenty years of time. If we’re being completely honest, this fic probably should be like 80,000+ words and go so much deeper than it did, but I don’t have time for that kind of commitment.  
>  **Chapter** One of two  
>  **Unique to the Chapter Warning(s)** medical peril (hypoglycaemia), unseen but implied attempted rape, aftermath of drugged without consent, blood, bruises, lead up to sex but not the actual sex

**_Many Things Can Happen When the Government Isn't Looking_  
I. **

The house was in various states of disrepair in a questionable area. It was the best place Malcolm could afford in London, still in the infancy of his political career. One of his three housemates was moving out to get married. The old housemate gave Malcolm the keys to the bedroom last night, and Malcolm would have to give them to the new housemate when he appeared. As long as no one burned the house down, the property owner did not care what happened or what the tenants put up with either.

Malcolm was in possession of the vacated bedroom’s keys. Malcolm had only just returned from work. He left his door open and stripped off his suit jacket and tie. He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. Malcolm collapsed into a plush chair in his bedroom and reached out with his hand, pulling an electric guitar out of a stand placed strategically nearby. He did not connect the amplifier, which was neglected in a far corner of the room, but he let his fingers toy with the strings, tuning the guitar before idly strumming. He bought the guitar years ago with aspirations of becoming part of a punk rock group, but politics happened and politics, as was its nature, swallowed up any other dream. 

After a while, he leaned his head back, guitar resting against his body with his legs stretched out haphazardly. He stared up at the ceiling. People around him were moving forward and Malcolm was still stuck where he had been for the past two years.

“Are you Malcolm Tucker?” a voice asked from the doorway. 

Malcolm blinked at the Scottish accent. It was uncommon in a city where people tried to pretend to be things they were not. He looked at the doorway and then sat up properly. “Yeah,” Malcolm said. 

“I’m Jamie MacDonald. I heard you have the key to my room,” Jamie said. He had a bag slung over one shoulder and a box filled with various things. 

“Yeah, I do.” Malcolm stood up and carefully put his guitar back in its stand. He ran a hand through his curls and walked over to Jamie, leading him down the hall. 

“The last guy said you can have whatever’s left in the room. Probably blankets and shit, I don’t know.” There were four bedrooms and a lavatory at the end of the hall. Malcolm’s room was farthest from the lavatory and Jamie’s room was closest on opposite ends of the hall. “If it’s raining, the door to the toilet swells shut. There’s a petrol station around the corner.” 

“Fucking fantastic,” Jamie said. He took the key from Malcolm and unlocked his bedroom door. He turned the handle and nothing happened. He pulled the door towards himself and pushed it out, and then it opened. He looked at Malcolm, top to bottom, noticing the polished shoes and pressed trousers. “Thanks for the information.” 

Malcolm nodded and retreated to his room. 

Monday found Malcolm back at work, trying to get out from under the shadow of the giants around him without destroying everything in the process. He spent most of his time all over the office building, learning who everyone was and their function. Malcolm returned home at an obscene hour of the morning. His tie was already rolled up in a pocket. He fumbled with his key in the main lock, his mind overloaded with thoughts of work. 

“Are you smashed?” Jamie asked. 

Malcolm almost dropped his keys, unused to someone approaching him at this hour. “No.” 

Jamie walked up the steps to the building and unlocked the door. His hair was damp and he smelled as if he had a recent shower. He let them inside and locked the door behind.

Malcolm flopped down on the sofa in front of the television. Their other housemates were out or asleep. He put his feet up on a dilapidated old wooden table in front of the sofa and turned on the news. 

“Really?” Jamie asked. He raided the kitchen for tea supplies. “The news at two in the fucking morning?”

“If I want to get the fuck to sleep by three,” Malcolm said, “and it’s not the fucking news.”

Jamie leaned on the back of the sofa and looked at the television. It was some kind of political commentary programme. Jamie listened for a minute and then asked, “Why do they even care if they’re talking like it’s fucking impossible?”

“Because the government in power is fucking shit,” Malcolm said. 

“Then, why not do something about it? This is just a bunch of cunts circle jerking to see who can come up with the most erotic thing that will never happen,” Jamie said. He went to prepare his tea. He had made only enough for himself. 

Malcolm rolled his eyes and slouched lower in his seat. He folded his hands on top of his stomach and intertwined his fingers. He moved his feet on the table so he could see the television screen unobstructed. 

Jamie considered the discussion on the television as he stirred his cup and then he shook his head. “Bunch of wankers,” he said. “All of them.” He then bid Malcolm goodnight and slunk off upstairs. 

Every late night Malcolm pulled for weeks brought him home just as Jamie came home. They developed a ritual of Jamie butting into Malcolm’s routine to make comments about whatever was on the television before going upstairs. Tonight, Malcolm was home an hour earlier than anticipated. Malcolm changed out of his work clothes and in something more casual before stretching out on the sofa in front of the television. He was the only person home, but he knew as the clock neared two-thirty that the quiet would be interrupted by housemates filled to the brim with drink sooner than later. 

As if on clockwork, the other two housemates appeared pissed and giggly. They were both upstairs for a long time before Jamie arrived home. Jamie was panting loudly and shut the door behind, locking it before sliding down to sit on the floor and catch his breath. Malcolm listened to the heavy breathing and then stretched his neck so he could peer around the sofa at Jamie. “What the fuck?”

“Fuck off,” Jamie wheezed, “I ran here.” He took another moment and then he stood up and slumped over to the sofa. He unceremoniously picked up Malcolm’s feet and moving them aside so he could sit on the opposite end of the sofa and put his own feet up on the table. 

“You just had to ask,” Malcolm said. He resituated himself so he could put his feet up on the other corner of the table. 

Jamie rubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair. He was drenched in sweat. His breath began to slow and he swallowed. 

“Did her dad finally catch you?” Malcolm asked. Jamie’s pattern was so consistent that Malcolm assumed he was always coming back from some late night rendezvous. Tonight Jamie reeked of mid-sex panic. It only put more evidence to the theory. 

“What?” Jamie asked. He blinked and then seemed to understand what Malcolm had implied. “Yeah. Sure. Had to get the fuck out without much warning,” Jamie said. He looked at the television. “What’s the circle jerk about tonight?” It sounded like a ploy to change the subject than an actual interest in the programme on the television.

“Income tax,” Malcolm said. He was trying to genuinely listen to the program and he did not think Jamie was seriously asking. 

“You really eat this shit up, don’t you?” Jamie asked. 

“It’s my job,” Malcolm said. 

They lapsed into silence. Malcolm wanted to be able to map out everything in his mind clearly. He wanted to be someone the party could not risk losing. Malcolm could hear Jamie’s breathing even out beside him. Before long, Malcolm’s own eyes closed and his mind drifted away from the television to process the day. 

It was a few hours later when Malcolm felt someone flick his ear. He reached out, grabbed Jamie’s wrist, and opened his eyes. “…the hell?”

“It’s five-thirty in the morning,” Jamie said, “someone’s rung you.” 

Malcolm’s fingers slowly released Jamie’s wrist. “Thanks.” He slumped over to the telephone. Malcolm purposefully straightened his posture and put one hand on a hip. His voice sounded alert when he answered the call. When he hung up, Malcolm rubbed his face. “Shit.” Malcolm murmured to himself. He could feel Jamie’s eyes on him. He looked over at Jamie. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm sighed. “I’m going to get ready and fuck off. They need me in early.” He headed upstairs, showered, changed, and headed down the stairs, two at a time. 

“You’re not seriously going to that circle jerk with your tie like that,” Jamie said.

“My tie’s not like anything,” Malcolm said. He looked down at it. 

“Exactly,” Jamie said. He reached out and in a few swift movements, the tie was straighter and the knot firm at Malcolm’s throat. “Planning to live to see thirty?”

“Fuck you, I’m immortal,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie snorted. His hands fell away. “There.”

Malcolm checked the tie as best he could and then headed out the door. “See you later.” 

The next general election was June. Everything went into a frenzied pace at work and Malcolm found himself relishing each new responsibility. He began to keep long hours. The only housemate he encountered any more was Jamie. If Jamie did not come home about the time Malcolm did, Jamie was already home. They would sit on the sofa and listen to the political commentary. Malcolm kept from falling asleep on the sofa by answering whatever questions Jamie asked. Malcolm could not tell if Jamie was sitting with him to keep Malcolm from passing out on the sofa or if Jamie was actually developing an interest in politics. 

Tonight was like any other early morning. Malcolm was physically tired but mentally stimulated. He pulled his tie off and rolled it carefully to put in his pocket as he approached the building. He could see someone sitting on the steps in the shadows. Malcolm slowed and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking again. 

“Fucking…” Malcolm murmured and headed up to the door to get rid of whoever it was. As he came closer, however, he realized it was Jamie. “Fucking hell,” Malcolm said. He knelt down and put a hand on Jamie’s arm. “Wake up.”

“Fuck off,” Jamie said. He looked rough and smelled of vomit and blood. 

“I’ll fuck off when you’re not sleeping outside,” Malcolm said. He hauled Jamie to his feet and unlocked the door. Once Malcolm hauled Jamie inside, it became clear Jamie was injured. Malcolm deposited Jamie onto one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re bleeding.”

“It happens,” Jamie said. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Everything’s fucking spinning,” he slurred. Jamie took a long moment and then removed his hands. “Fuck,” he said when Malcolm turned on the kitchen light. Jamie’s left eye was swelling and bruising. There was blood trickling down the opposite arm, and his knuckles were bruised and bleeding. 

Malcolm looked Jamie over, not sure where to start. “What happened?” He filled a plastic bag with ice, tied the neck of the bag into a knot, and wrapped the bag in a towel. He pressed it firmly to Jamie’s face. “Keep that there,” he said. “There are Elastoplast upstairs.”

“I got into it with someone who didn’t understand shit,” Jamie said tiredly. He pressed the ice to his face. 

Malcolm was not sure what that was supposed to mean. He went upstairs and returned with Elastoplast. He put the Elastoplast and towels on the kitchen table and put water in a bowl so Jamie would not have to go stand by the kitchen sink. Malcolm rolled up Jamie’s sleeve on his injured arm and began to clean the wound. His ministrations were careful but also swift. The water turned red as he worked. 

“You don’t have to,” Jamie said. 

“Who else is going to do it?” Malcolm asked. He dried the wound and bandaged it, careful to make sure the pads of the Elastoplast were against the wound. 

“I can in the morning,” Jamie said. He let Malcolm clean his knuckles. He slouched in the chair. 

Malcolm watched Jamie, checking for any other visible injury or indication of a hidden injury. He could not see any more. Malcolm took the bowl to the sink so he could wash it three times over.

“What’s it like?” Jamie asked after a long period of silence. “Election season.” He sounded slightly more coherent now. Malcolm began to wonder what Jamie had in his system. 

“It’s like someone trying to pull your eyes out of your sockets at the same time someone’s trying to pull your intestines out your arse,” Malcolm said. “And they keep asking you why you won’t fucking sit down and why you can’t see fuck all.” Malcolm set the bowl aside to dry. “But, it’s the most fun you’ll have. It doesn’t stop.” 

Jamie snorted and then made a noise of regret as though the snort hurt. “You have a way with words.” He grew quiet again. Jamie watched Malcolm idly. “I have some days off work this week. I could volunteer some time, help you guys out?”

“What?” Malcolm had not anticipated the offer. 

“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “Why not?” He put the ice back on his eye and made his way haphazardly the sofa. “I could start when the swelling subsides.”

“Ask me again when you can walk properly,” Malcolm said. He hoped this was not a new thing with Jamie. 

Jamie was normal for Jamie the next day. Three days later, Jamie got up early and went with Malcolm to the office. Malcolm worked for one of the MPs in an office that housed three MPs and another junior MP. He had a low-level position where he kept track of interns and pushed papers. Once Jamie’s volunteering was approved, Malcolm set Jamie to work as he might anyone else.

It was near lunch on the third day of Jamie’s volunteering when someone grabbed Malcolm by the arm and pulled him into a supply closet without much warning. 

“For the last time, I’m not going to fuck you in the supply closet,” Malcolm said and reached up to turn on the light overhead. The person in front of Malcolm was not the secretary who was after his ass, but Jamie. Malcolm snorted. “I’m not going to fuck you in the supply closet either,” Malcolm said. 

“I don’t want to fuck you in the supply closet,” Jamie said, keeping his voice quiet. “There’s something you need to know.” He let go of Malcolm’s arm and shifted his weight. 

“What?” Malcolm did not like the look in Jamie’s eyes. It looked like Jamie wanted to tell him something disastrous. “No, wait. I don’t want to know.”

“The junior MP on the ground floor picks up rent boys,” Jamie said, thickening his accent and mumbling his words. He knew Malcolm would have no problem understanding. 

“Jesus. Fuck.” Malcolm rubbed his face. This would not be good for the party if it got out. While homosexuality had been decriminalized for twenty-years in England, this would be a bigger scandal than if the junior MP picked up female prostitutes. “How do you even fucking know that?”

“I saw him pick one up at a club,” Jamie said. “He acted like a cunt who does it a lot.” 

“Doesn’t mean he does it regularly,” Malcolm said. He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth in thought. “If he has, we have to force him out.”

“Can you even do that?” Jamie asked. 

“Maybe.” Malcolm folded his arms and then raised one hand up, resting it on the side of his face in thought. “I need a plan. I need information. The last thing we need is this fucking up our chances in the election.” He took a deep breath, his mind visibly clicking. “Who else have you told?”

“Only you,” Jamie said. 

“Let’s keep it that way,” Malcolm said. “If you find out anything else, bring it to me. No one else.” He turned the lights out and then left the supply closet. 

The information haunted Malcolm. Every time he saw the junior MP, his brain returned to the potential scandal. He knew he could not let it fester. Every politician had that one implosion waiting to happen. Once someone knew it, it was the equivalent of a lit fuse. Jamie lit the fuse and Malcolm had to redirect it. Malcolm came home at the end of the day and laid down on the sofa. He turned the television on but kept it barely audible. 

Jamie got to leave the office hours before Malcolm did. Malcolm heard Jamie walking down the stairs and cross the floor. Jamie leaned over the back of the sofa to peer down at him. “Sorry,” Jamie said.

Malcolm rubbed his face. “I just have to sleep on it,” he said. “I’ll know what I have to do in the morning.” 

Jamie nodded. He walked around and lifted Malcolm’s feet up so he could sit down. He put Malcolm’s feet on his thighs towards his knees and stretched his own feet out to rest them on the table in front of the couch. Jamie rested his arm over the back of the sofa and his other on the arm of the sofa and let out a long breath. “Politics are weird.” 

“When do you go back to your other job?” Malcolm asked. He could not remember what job Jamie had. He wondered if Jamie ever mentioned what it was. 

“When things heal,” Jamie said. “It’s about the fucking visual.”

Malcolm nodded. Malcolm had caught himself staring too long at Jamie occasionally. It was not a stretch to think Jamie utilized his looks for work. Malcolm grabbed one of the decorative sofa cushions for something to do with his hands. He could feel Jamie’s eyes on him. He could hear the political commentary on the television, but it sounded like gibberish when Malcolm’s mind had bigger problems than defeating the current prime minister. 

“You’re always wound up,” Jamie said after several minutes of watching Malcolm. 

Malcolm’s eyes shifted from the television to Jamie almost curiously. 

“Always tensed like you’re going to pounce on something,” Jamie said. “Reminds me of that fucking terrier at seminary.” He reached out and firmly ran a finger up the centre of Malcolm’s sole. Malcolm could feel the tension in his muscles as Jamie’s finger traversed his sock. It was a single touch and Jamie’s hand was back where it belonged on the arm of the sofa. 

“Seminary? You don’t seem that religious,” Malcolm said. 

“I used to be,” Jamie said. “Ma wanted me to be a fucking priest. It didn’t work out.” 

Malcolm’s toes wiggled instinctively, wanting to be touched. His last relationship ended months ago. Malcolm moved his feet off Jamie’s lap before things could get weird and sat up properly on the sofa. He turned the television off when the programme ended. 

Malcolm had a few ideas of how to solve the rent boy problem before it might become a real scandal. He did not like any of them enough to implement anything yet. Malcolm was on his way to the fourth floor to attend a meeting when the junior MP Jamie tipped Malcolm off about fell into step with him. 

“Malcolm Tucker, it’s been a while,” the junior MP said. 

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. He did not like the tone. “What is it?” he asked. 

“There’s a boy you manage. I need him gone,” the junior MP said. 

“I manage three men and one woman over the age of twenty-two,” Malcolm said. “All of them were approved by fucking security. I don’t manage any boys.”

“Yes, but one of their security checks had an oversight,” the junior MP said, “and it would be beneficial to the campaigns if you let him go now in disgrace before he creates problems.”

Malcolm stopped walking up the stairs. He turned and looked down at the junior MP who had stopped on the landing. “You still haven’t told me which man.” He had a feeling which one. 

“The one who’s,” the junior MP tried to think of a way to put things discreetly since he obviously lacked names, “preformed more tricks than a magician. Your newest volunteer.” 

Malcolm realized the implications. His fingers curled tighter around the file he held. A job that relied on appearance, escaping a sexual encounter, and the night Jamie acted strangely and looked like he struggled with someone. Malcolm’s eyes discreetly looked at the junior MP’s hands, which had faint bruising and a bandage along the curve between the junior MP’s thumb and forefinger. 

“You do realize that if his profession is exposed, we’ll both be forced out,” the junior MP continued. “You brought him here, perhaps out of some bizarre Scottish kinship or for closeted rendezvous. Everyone knows your judgement brought him here.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Malcolm asked. 

“I’m merely pointing out truths,” the junior MP said. “Run off to your meeting. Take care of the trash when you leave.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as the junior MP started to walk down the stairs. “I’ll fucking take out the trash,” he murmured under his breath. He went to his meeting. 

When the meeting finished, Malcolm knew what he had to do. He had to play along with the junior MP and then bite him before the junior MP could bite him. Malcolm found Jamie working the telephone lines. He tapped Jamie on the shoulder and motioned for Jamie to follow. He led Jamie out into the hallway and looked around. The hallway was not empty but it was not full of people either. Malcolm took a deep breath and looked at Jamie. 

“What is it?” Jamie asked. 

Malcolm looked at him and placed a firm hand on Jamie’s shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. “Listen,” Malcolm said in a dark, quiet voice. 

“You fucking listen,” Jamie said. His hand gripped Malcolm’s wrist tightly. “Nobody gets to fucking do that to me.” He got out from Malcolm’s grasp. 

Malcolm frowned. “I need you to get your stuff, leave, and not come back here.”

Jamie stepped closer to Malcolm, making himself as big as possible. His face got very close. “For what? What have I fucking done?” 

Malcolm could feel people watching them. “Get your things and fuck off, or I’ll make you fuck off.” 

Jamie stared at Malcolm, studying his face. Jamie firmly planted his feet on the floor and steeled himself for confrontation. “Then make me.” 

Malcolm took a breath. He grabbed Jamie by the jacket and started to tug him along. Jamie struggled against Malcolm’s force, but Malcolm kept a firm grip on him. They went down the stairs and across the ground floor until Malcolm shoved Jamie through the revolving doors. Once they were on the pavement, Malcolm pointed a finger at Jamie. “Don’t fucking challenge me.”

“What’s your fucking problem?” Jamie asked. He smoothed down his suit. 

Malcolm kept his finger extended and lowered his voice. “The fucking cunt knows you’re here. If you want to work here – or anywhere – get rid of the cunt.”

“Fuck,” Jamie said. He smoothed down his suit and pointed a finger back at Malcolm. “Fuck you. Fuck him. Fuck everyone.” Jamie turned around and walked away. 

Malcolm watched Jamie leave. He re-entered the building. Everyone pretended as if they had not watched the entire ordeal. Malcolm made his way back to the first floor. Now he really did have to come up with a way to take out the real trash just in case Jamie decided not to participate in the ousting. 

When Malcolm came home, he found Jamie stretched out on the sofa. Jamie had a warm cloth over his bruised eye. Malcolm leaned on the back of the sofa, one arm resting over the other. He held Jamie’s gaze. “I know,” he said. 

“Know what?” Jamie asked. He moved the cloth off his face so he could look at Malcolm properly. 

“How you know what he does in his spare time,” Malcolm said. “Why you were fucked up last week.” 

“Don’t be fucking coward,” Jamie said and tossed the cloth at Malcolm casually. “Say it like the cunt you are.”

“I’m not being a fucking coward. You’re the one who treats it like some kind of magical mystery model tour,” Malcolm caught the cloth. “I know you fucked him in the arse,” he said. “Is that better?”

“I didn’t fuck him up the arse,” Jamie said. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

“I know the cunt wanted to keep your connection secret,” Malcolm said. “I know you mentioned seeing him pick up rent boys. I think he picked you up and tried to bend the rules. I think he knows just how dangerous you are to him.” 

“And you want me to pull him out of your arse like some kind of fucked up Jenga,” Jamie said. 

“Not just my arse,” Malcolm said. “This isn’t even about me. This is about fucking over the party in power. This is about the general election and beyond.”

“So for queen and country,” Jamie said. He snorted at that. “You’re a fucking drama queen.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes and straightened. He tossed the cloth in the sink and walked around to the front of the sofa. He moved Jamie’s feet out of the way and sat down. Jamie put his feet on Malcolm’s knee and lower thigh once Malcolm had settled. “I’m not a fucking footstool,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah, footstools are quieter,” Jamie said. He kept his feet where they were and Malcolm made no moves against them. They lapsed into silence. Sometimes they could hear snoring from one of their roommates upstairs. 

“I’m not going to fuck him over for you,” Jamie said. “Or your group of circle jerking bastards.” He settled deeper into the sofa. “I’m doing this because he’s a fucking cunt and he needs to be cut off like a fucking growth.”

Malcolm slouched more and put his feet up on the table in front of the sofa. “I don’t care why you fucking do it. I have too much bullshit to get through.” 

Again, there was silence. Malcolm did not turn on the television. He could feel Jamie’s eyes watching him. It made him itch, almost literally. Even though the majority of their encounters lasted an hour or less, and up until recently were once every twenty-four or so hours, he felt acutely aware of Jamie without having to actually look at him. Jamie’s gaze was also calming at the same time, which was why Jamie’s feet were allowed to invade his personal space. 

“You’re going to fucking implode,” Jamie said. 

“I’m not going to ‘fucking implode,’” Malcolm said. 

“Someday I’m going to be standing over your sorry arse in a hospital because your heart gave up,” Jamie said. He moved his feet off Malcolm’s lap and sat up to stretch. 

“Keep me out of your fucked up predictions,” Malcolm said. Jamie, however, was not the first person to say something like that to Malcolm. He watched Jamie stretch before averting his eyes. “What are you going to do when you’re healed?” Malcolm asked.

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Jamie asked. “You sacked me in front of everyone today.”

“If you keep fucking every arse that waves money at you, you’re not going to get anywhere,” Malcolm said. 

“I don’t just fuck people up the arse,” Jamie said. “It’s more than that.” He knelt on the sofa and leaned forward, but did not lean directly over Malcolm. “I’ve been at this for over a year,” he said, “ever since I told seminary to fuck itself. It was survival, but now it’s power.” Jamie reached out and ran his fingertips along the back of Malcolm’s neck on the side farthest from Jamie. He kept his eyes fixed on Malcolm’s face, always checking that the touch was not unwelcomed. Jamie flattened his fingers and followed the curve at the base of Malcolm’s neck, dipping his fingers down underneath the edge of Malcolm’s shirt collar before pulling his hand away. 

Malcolm could feel the tension in his muscles react to Jamie’s touch. Malcolm shivered almost imperceptibly when the fingers left his skin. He looked back at Jamie. Malcolm did not know how he should respond to that. 

Jamie stood up. “I’ll take care of the cunt,” he said. “Your party will continue on like he never fucking existed.” He ran a hand through his own hair. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll like it enough to consider a career change. I don’t even known what party I fucking agree with.” He bid Malcolm goodnight and headed upstairs. 

Once Jamie was gone, Malcolm rubbed his neck on the side Jamie had touched. He had been in a handful of long term and short term relationships. He had felt his skin light up under more than a few people’s fingers. This was different and Malcolm was not certain what the goal behind Jamie’s touches was. 

Monday found the office in chaos. People were moving things out of the ground floor junior MP’s office when Malcolm arrived. Malcolm ascended the decorative staircase in the centre of the ground floor and stopped to watch on the first landing. “What’s going on?” Malcolm asked. 

Hugh Abbot, a MP from the second floor, looked at Malcolm. “There was a commotion earlier. Someone found something suspicious in his desk,” he said. “The official story is he’s overworked and attempting a political career was too much pressure.” 

“What did they find?” Malcolm asked. 

Hugh moved ever so slightly closer and lowered his voice. “I heard it was GHB.” 

Malcolm frowned and watched the junior MP leave the building looking extremely annoyed. “Do you think he used it illegally?” Malcolm felt like he already knew the answer, but he wanted to put on the front this was all news to him. 

“Can we afford to find out either way?” Hugh asked. 

Malcolm knew they could not, especially with the election a little over a week away. The closer the election came, the less time Malcolm spent at home. He began to spend forty to sixty hours at a time at the office. When he was home, many times he shut himself in his room, pretending to play his guitar, and then fell asleep more often in his plush chair rather than his bed. He saw little of Jamie, and none of their other roommates 

Election Day came and with it, long, long hours. Their party leader lost to the current prime minister. It was not a total loss, however, because the party gained seats in Parliament and seemed to have a more successful election than the last one overall. 

Malcolm had not been home in almost fifty hours. When Malcolm got home, he stripped off his tie and jacket. He unbuttoned his shirt on his way up the stairs. He would not have to move for another nine to ten hours if he did not want to. Malcolm changed into casual clothing and headed back down. He wanted to eat something that did not come from a can, carton, or soggy box for the first time in months. 

Malcolm fixed pasta and a tomato-based sauce from what was left of his own grocery shopping efforts. He finished his supper around the time the front door opened and Jamie appeared a hours earlier than usual. 

Jamie blinked. “Did you cook?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. He got up from the kitchen table and washed his dish in the sink. “You’re early.”

“I know,” Jamie said. He went over to the pot and nicked the spoon for a taste test of the sauce. It was spicy and seasoned properly. Jamie started to clean up the remnants in the pot. 

“You’re going to wash that,” Malcolm said. “I’m not fucking doing it if you’re going to lick it clean.”

“Fair enough,” Jamie said. “I heard the thorn’s out of our side.”

“You did well,” Malcolm said.

Jamie nodded and moved over to the sink to wash the pot. Malcolm leaned against the counter nearby and dried his bowl, half-watching Jamie. He handed the drying towel off to Jamie when Jamie finished the pot and Malcolm put the bowl away. “I enrolled for classes,” Jamie said. “I’ve got to find a new kind of power.”

Malcolm stopped leaning on the counter and reached out to run his fingers once through Jamie’s hair. Every time there was some allusion to power, touching happened. He wanted to touch Jamie before Jamie touched him this time. “Did you plant it?” he asked. 

Jamie put the pot away. “No,” Jamie said, “I knew where he kept it. Right jacket pocket.” Jamie’s eyes darkened and his shoulders tensed. 

Malcolm felt anger rise up within him. He had no outlet for it and let out a deep sigh, running both hands through his hair and stopped leaning against the counter. 

“You know, you can touch me like I’m twenty-three,” Jamie said. “I don’t automatically pin someone to the wall and fuck them when they touch me.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” Malcolm said. 

“You won’t fucking break me either,” Jamie said. He held Malcolm’s gaze. 

Malcolm did not look away, but he did not make a move either and after a while, he felt like a moment passed. A moment for what, Malcolm was not sure, but he felt it escape. He touched Jamie’s arm and then headed off to the couch. He was ready to stop standing around for a while. 

With the election came restructure. Malcolm seized the moment and ascended in rank. With his new position came more money and a way to a better area of the city. It was Sunday over a month later and Malcolm had boxes scattered about his room. The weather was hotter than usual for that time of year and Malcolm had his door open for air circulation. He could hear Jamie wake up across the hallway. After a while, he could feel Jamie watching him from the doorway. Malcolm set more books into one of the boxes and then straightened and looked to the doorway. 

Jamie leaned against the doorframe. He had no shirt. It was too hot for it. “How long?”

“Next month,” Malcolm said. 

“That’s a couple of days,” Jamie said. He continued to watch Malcolm pack. 

“Going to miss me?” Malcolm asked with a smirk. 

“No,” Jamie said, but they knew it was a lie. 

Jamie slipped away to get breakfast. He returned later and started helping Malcolm pack. They did not speak except to make sure Jamie put whatever was in his hand in the right box. It was late afternoon when they finished. Only the clothes remained to pack and even the casual clothing would fare better if packed on moving day. Malcolm sat on the floor and Jamie flopped down beside him. The house was stifling and it felt like the hottest day of the year. 

“I move next weekend,” Malcolm said. He reached out and traced a trail of sweat along Jamie’s back with his finger. Jamie moved into the touch instinctively, curving his back so Malcolm’s fingers could do whatever they wanted. Malcolm traced his fingernail down Jamie’s spine, moving in a zigzag pattern. He ran his fingers up Jamie’s back and then stood up. “I’ve got shit I have to do.” 

“You always have shit you have to do,” Jamie said. He stood up. “It’ll be years from now, we’ll be strangers again, and you’ll still have shit you have to fuck off to do.” He looked at Malcolm then. “Except then, I’ll either come with you or I’ll obstruct it.” He smirked. 

It took a few months, but it was easy for Malcolm and Jamie to fall out of contact. A few months turned into a few years and one general election. Malcolm was still stuck at a desk in the midst of other desks, but he was higher up on the food chain than he used to be. After a business lunch, Malcolm walked back to work swiftly. When he got back inside the lobby, he stopped short. He spotted Jamie instantly on the second floor. Jamie had his back to the lobby and was talking to one of the other party workers. Malcolm headed up the stairs, one eye on Jamie. He stood beside Jamie just after the other party member left. 

Jamie looked over at Malcolm and almost jumped. “What is this? Fucking Dracula?” His body was soon at ease. Jamie’s eyes discreetly looked Malcolm over from his polished shoes to the grey flecks in Malcolm’s hair. 

“You only wish I was here to suck your blood,” Malcolm said quietly. “Are you working here?” His body relaxed ever so slightly at Jamie’s reaction. He was still tightly wound, but Jamie was calming. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “Did you miss me?” His lips quirked into a small smirk. 

“No,” Malcolm said, but they both knew it was a lie. He snorted. “I want you to work with me,” he said. It was not an impulse. He saw Jamie take down a junior MP with little experience. He knew how dangerous Jamie could be. 

Jamie held Malcolm’s gaze. “Afraid, I’ll root out all your secrets?” He grinned. 

“Fuck off,” Malcolm said, but his voice was quiet and he smirked teasingly. Malcolm’s mobile began to ring, its default tune echoing through the hall. Malcolm answered and then waved to Jamie and took off running down the hallway to his corner of the building. 

The next elections were set for April. Things were hitting a frenzied pace and Malcolm’s legendary hours at a desk were lengthening. Once Jamie accomplished his goals for the twenty-four hour cycle, he walked across the main hall and past the staircase to where Malcolm worked. There were a handful of people still left in the building. Jamie grabbed a chair and pulled it over so he could sit beside Malcolm’s desk. It seemed even now, the last thing they did before retiring for the night was talk to each other.

Malcolm pushed a button on his mobile and marked something down on a legal pad at his desk to log the call. He looked at Jamie. “What?”

“You look like fucking shit,” Jamie said.

Malcolm rubbed his face. He looked exhausted and felt it too. He shivered involuntarily. “I’m just cold.” There was also a twinge of nausea he could not shake. 

“It’s a fucking sauna in here,” Jamie said. He reached out and touched Malcolm’s hand. Jamie’s fingers were warm and rough against Malcolm’s clammy skin. 

Malcolm let Jamie do this. He watched their hands and then his eyes averted to Jamie’s gaze. Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He let go of Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm took a deep breath. “I have to do one more thing and then I’ll fuck off home,” Malcolm said. 

“What if you fuck it up? You’re fucking sweating,” Jamie said. “Just go home.”

Malcolm took another deep breath. He could not focus on what he was doing or what Jamie was doing. The room felt like it was spinning and Malcolm was stationary. He felt Jamie touch his forehead and then Jamie’s fingers rested against the pulse point at Malcolm’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Jamie said. “Fuck.” He stood up and hauled Malcolm up to his feet. 

“Fuck, Jamie, I have to fucking finish this,” Malcolm said. He tried to fight Jamie on it, but Jamie’s grasp was firm and Malcolm felt as though he might vomit. 

“Later,” Jamie said. “You’re fucked up.” He hauled Malcolm to the lift and shoved him inside without finesse. Soon they were heading down to the ground floor. 

Malcolm shivered again. He leaned against the wall of the lift. He felt hungry despite the nausea. He could not remember the last thing he ate or the last time he ate. He felt Jamie tug him along and get him into a cab. He did not remember much afterwards. 

It was a hypoglycaemia attack. Once Malcolm’s blood sugar levels returned to normal, the doctors inundated Malcolm with information to take home. It was late and Jamie sat in the chair beside Malcolm’s hospital bed in the ER with his eyes closed and a hand over his face. Malcolm looked at the clock. There was no time to go home. Malcolm rubbed his face, slipped off the hospital bed, and touched Jamie on the shoulder. 

Jamie got up and followed Malcolm out of the hospital quietly. The sky was still dark. Malcolm checked for messages on his mobile. 

“Getting over confident since making it to thirty?” Jamie asked with a yawn. 

“Keep walking,” Malcolm said. He led them to the nearest bus stop and sat. 

Jamie rubbed his face and looked at Malcolm. “Are you fucked?”

“No,” Malcolm said. “This isn’t going to fucking happen again.” His voice was tired, quiet. He was not sure if he really could prevent another occurrence, but he would try. He did not have the time for this during elections or at any other time of year. 

Jamie nodded. He folded his arms. “I saw that your emergency contact is your sister,” he said. “I thought you’d have someone by now.” 

Malcolm made a face. “I’ve had a few,” he said. “What about you?” No relationship lasted too long. It was hard to find someone who understood that the job was always a part of his life. He worked so hard to get to this point and he wanted to take it to the top.

“I met someone last year,” Jamie said. He stifled a yawn. “Thinks I’m married to this fucking job.” He snorted. “We probably all are.” He closed his eyes. 

Malcolm looked through the information in front of him. It was straightforward. He touched Jamie’s shoulder when the bus arrived and they headed back to the office. 

The election went as the last few had. There were gains in Parliament, but the prime minister remained out of reach. It was late and those who wanted to go home were gone. Malcolm sat at his desk with his feet up on it. There was a Fanta beside him that he drank half from over the course of the night. His head leaned back and he stared up at the ceiling. 

Jamie loomed over Malcolm, obstructing his view. “I heard a rumour that you sleep under your desk, but I think the truth is more fucked up.”

Malcolm’s gaze adjusted for Jamie’s proximity. “I’m not sleeping at the office.” At least not since was able to secure a comfortable flat nearby. Malcolm sat up straighter and then stood up and grabbed his things. 

Jamie snorted. They stepped out into the night and prepared to go in opposite directions. It was one of those moments, rare and exceedingly brief. Malcolm reached out but did not touch Jamie. He pointed a finger casually and then took a step back, feeling the moment slip even farther away. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Malcolm said. He turned away and headed home. He had not felt something like that since he lived across the hallway from Jamie. He was not sure he wanted to admit he knew what it might mean, especially when Jamie had someone.

The years slipped by. Relationships came and went. There were whispers elections might be called again soon. Malcolm and Jamie were a political team, the attack squad of the higher ups around them. They were effective and brutal. 

It was late. Malcolm and Jamie stood outside of one of the lifts late one night. Malcolm was heading down to the vending machines and Jamie was heading home. Jamie looked at the lift’s polished door and tilted his head. “It’s true what they say,” he murmured. 

“What?” Malcolm followed Jamie’s gaze, but he only saw their reflections. 

“We stand like we’re some sort of fucking guard dogs,” Jamie said. “We’re mirroring each other.” He purposefully shifted his weight but that only made him adapt Malcolm’s current posture.

The lift doors opened. Malcolm led them inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. “I don’t fucking want to know,” Malcolm said. “Besides, it terrifies them.” He could live with being reflections of one another if it meant terror. The lift sent them downward. “When I get more power,” Malcolm said as though there was no if in the equation, “We’re not going to have any unwarranted fuckery. It’s going to be a ship tighter than a virgin.” He looked at Jamie. 

Jamie held his gaze. “It’s nice to know you’d miss me in your rise to power,” he teased. 

Malcolm snorted and followed Jamie out of the lift when the doors opened. When Malcolm went to turn down the hall, his fingers brushed Jamie’s arm. Malcolm stopped when Jamie grasped his wrist. There was no one in the lobby. If there was anyone on the stairs, they were hidden around a corner. Everything was quiet. Jamie’s grip was firm. 

“If you’re going to touch me,” Jamie leaned in closer, speaking in a voice only Malcolm could hear, his accent thickening on purpose, “fucking touch me like you mean it.” 

Malcolm held Jamie’s gaze. The touch out of the lift was accidental, but this opportunity was one he would not let slip away like all the others that accumulated over the past few years. Malcolm ran his fingers through Jamie’s hair, down Jamie’s neck. Malcolm gripped Jamie’s shoulder firmly, giving a moment’s pause for Jamie to stop him before moving Jamie swiftly up against the wall in one of the few blind spots on the ground floor. As long as the other allowed it, they could shove each other around at will. It was an agreement they made when they began working together. Yet, for all the other time’s Jamie’s or Malcolm’s back hit a flat surface, this felt different. 

Jamie’s hands rested on Malcolm’s waist under Malcolm’s jacket. Malcolm’s fingers caressed Jamie’s face. Malcolm kissed Jamie’s jaw where it met his neck before whispering in Jamie’s ear, “Not here.” 

“I’m not the caveman shoving people into walls,” Jamie said. His hands slid deliberately slowly away from Malcolm’s sides, pressing against the fabric of Malcolm’s shirt firmly. Malcolm’s lips brushed against Jamie’s ear and then they stood apart from each other and parted ways. 

The moment near the lift was still unaddressed as the May election approached. The campaign consumed Malcolm. It was the life that Malcolm wanted, the hand in the background, not quite in or out of the shadows. He was part of the process that decided everything. Malcolm and Jamie still interacted and no one in the office let on if they knew anything had happened. 

“It’s like we’re in a fucking ménage à trois and the job doesn’t know how to share,” Jamie said quietly. They were both working late tonight, sharing a desk now that it was too late for phone calls unless it was an emergency. There were others in the building, but no one in the immediate vicinity. 

“If we were in a ménage à trois, we’d have done more fucking than fucking around,” Malcolm said. He ran his fingers through his curls and continued through his stack of things. He needed a secretary. Malcolm had been through more secretaries than he could remember. None of them seemed to understand his moods or what he wanted from them. 

Jamie leaned back in his seat to stretch and make sure no one was listening. He put his arms on the desk and continued with his work. “Then that’s what we should do,” Jamie said. “We should fuck. 

Malcolm looked up from his paperwork. He studied Jamie, gauging how serious Jamie was. Jamie looked back at Malcolm with no signs of teasing. 

“After the results come in,” Jamie said, “my flat.” He held Malcolm’s gaze, still completely serious. “We’ll see where it leads.”

“Probably a fucking power struggle,” Malcolm murmured and quieted when they heard footsteps approaching, but he was open to the invitation. 

The party leader won the prime ministership and the party gained more seats. The celebration carried over into the next day where it gave way to major transitions. When Malcolm and Jamie finally left the office, it was a day later. 

It was not the first time Malcolm had been to Jamie’s flat. It was clean and seemed lived in with a small kitchen near the door and one bedroom. Like any other time, Jamie offered drinks and Malcolm took him up on it. There was wine for Jamie and water for Malcolm, who now kept his drinking to only if it came with a meal. Jamie followed Malcolm’s gaze and looked at his own arm. “You’re thinking about the scar,” Jamie said. They were still in the kitchen and kept their voices quiet. 

“Among other things,” Malcolm said. He set his glass aside and slid his finger along Jamie’s arm almost exactly in the shape and path of the scar before it had faded and flattened with age. Malcolm had not seen the scar in at least ten years. 

“I’m not going to give you something you don’t already have,” Jamie said. He seemed to be anticipating any hesitations Malcolm might have. 

“I know,” Malcolm said. They had checked independently of each other since their last sexual partners well before they knew they would have to compare notes. 

Jamie set his wine on the counter. He rubbed the back of his neck and then removed his tie, letting it hang on a hook near the refrigerator. Neither of them knew where this night would go. They were prepared for any eventuality. They both had protection in their pockets. Jamie had anything else they might need in his bedroom. He looked up at Malcolm, daring him. 

The first kiss was brief, intense, almost probing. Malcolm placed his hands flat against the front of Jamie’s shoulders and guided him back against the kitchen wall that stuck out into the sitting room. The second kiss was just as intense, built up on both of their missed opportunities over the years. Jamie’s fingers slid up the front of Malcolm’s shirt with a firm, explorative touch. He reached Malcolm’s neck and pulled his tie off in a few quick movements. Malcolm’s hands moved to accommodate Jamie’s movement and rested at Jamie’s waist before moving up Jamie’s sides, deliberately gentle. 

Jamie squirmed at the almost touches, his fingers unbuttoning and then opening up Malcolm’s collar. “Tease,” Jamie murmured, breaking the kiss to explore Malcolm’s neck, eliciting a shiver. Jamie teased the sensitive areas of Malcolm’s neck with his tongue and teeth, coaxing both of them away from the wall. 

Malcolm untucked Jamie’s shirt and unbuttoned the last few buttons so his hand could slip inside. Malcolm’s hand was rough and his fingers cold against Jamie’s warm, hairy stomach. 

Jamie pulled back enough to push Malcolm down onto one of the upholstered chairs in the room. When Jamie rested his knees on either side of Malcolm’s legs, the chair creaked with their combined weight. Malcolm reached out to help steady Jamie and the chair made another noise. “Is it going to hold?” Malcolm asked. 

“Fuck if I know,” Jamie admitted. He leaned forward and placed his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders. The chair seemed to take their weight for now with occasional, quiet protests. Jamie leaned down and bit Malcolm where Malcolm’s neck and shoulder met and sucked on the bite. Malcolm groaned. His fingers slid up the backs of Jamie’s thighs and up over Jamie’s ass, squeezing, groping. 

Jamie moved into Malcolm’s hands. He began to unbutton the rest of Malcolm’s shirt. Malcolm shifted his position enough that he could mouth at Jamie’s jawline. His hands moved from Jamie’s ass around to Jamie’s front, working to unbutton the rest of Jamie’s shirt in turn. There was a struggle to peel Malcolm’s jacket and shirt away from his body. Jamie tossed them off onto another chair in the room. Jamie’s jacket was easier to tug off, but his hand got caught in the shirt cuff. Malcolm managed to toss these things onto the other chair. 

Jamie leaned back, careful on his perch. His eyes roamed over Malcolm’s body, pausing at the vaccination scars and moles. Jamie’s eyes moved down along the curve of Malcolm’s pectorals, following the hair that ran down Malcolm’s chest and abdomen. Jamie ran his fingers along a jagged, decades-old scar across Malcolm’s chest as though he had seen it before and remembered how much he wanted to touch it years ago. Malcolm never explained the scar and even now, Jamie did not ask. Malcolm’s eyes explored Jamie as well. They had seen each other shirtless before, but never in a context where they could just look as long as they wished. There was the scar from the cut Malcolm cleaned on Jamie’s arm. A few shallow, white aged scars along Jamie’s chest that looked like remnants from fights. Malcolm’s fingers slid along a surgical scar right where Jamie’s appendix once was. Jamie shivered in response. 

Little touches became longer, greedier touches. Malcolm’s palm followed the contours of Jamie’s body, up his abdomen, along his side, and up Jamie’s back. Jamie’s fingers slid along Malcolm’s collarbone and up to his shoulders before digging in and following points of tension. Jamie adjusted how he straddled Malcolm’s legs, moving so his knee rested between Malcolm’s legs, applying pressure. Malcolm’s hands left Jamie’s back and tugged on Jamie’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss that was rough, probing. Their tongues sought out one another and their fingernails nicked each other’s skin as they explored each other with greedy palms. The chair began to make louder noises as Malcolm and Jamie began to move together, searching for friction, for each other. 

Malcolm began to undo Jamie’s belt and stopped when a loud crack echoed from the bottom of the chair. Malcolm instinctively grasped onto Jamie’s waist so Jamie would not fall in case the chair gave out. Jamie stopped moving as well, Malcolm’s bottom lip between his teeth and waited for the chair to collapse, but the chair remained standing. Jamie let go of Malcolm’s lip and moved a hand from Malcolm’s nipple to Malcolm’s shoulder, his other hand already on Malcolm’s other shoulder. 

“Bedroom?” Jamie suggested as the chair made another disconcerting noise near the centre of its base. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie got down carefully and then pulled Malcolm up from the chair, leading him into the bedroom.

**To be concluded…**


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exploration of the established relationship just before, during, and just after canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie  
>  **Genre** Alternate Universe/Drama/Political/Slash  
>  **Rating** R  
>  **Word Count** 8,462 (17,619 total)  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** When a rent boy becomes a low level politician’s new housemate, neither can anticipate that after many missed opportunities, they will embark on a partnership that lasts through political success and failure.   
> **Warning(s)** medical peril (hypoglycaemia, heart attack), unseen but implied attempted rape, aftermath of drugged without consent, blood, bruises, lead up to sex but not the actual sex, almost sex but not quite, language, spoilers for all series and specials of _The Thick of It_  
>  **Notes** I know that people like to go on and on about how they hate fic that isn’t porn. But, I mean, this is the first time outside of an RP that I’ve written sexual scenes. Yes, I didn’t go all the way with them, but I’m still proud of myself, even if someone will probably complain I didn’t go far enough.   
> **Chapter** Two of two  
>  **Unique to the Chapter Warning(s)** medical peril (heart attack), almost sex but not quite

**_Many Things Can Happen When the Government Isn't Looking_  
II. **

The office was the office and their flats were where the indiscretions occurred. It kept the office fooled. While both Malcolm and Jamie were aware that the job was always with them, they knew they had to work with it instead of against it. They continued to work as usual. Under the new prime minister, they were put in charge of more people and their bad cop-bad cop reputation grew exponentially. Sex happened when it could. As the millennium approached, Malcolm and Jamie spent most of their free time together. Half of their clothing seemed to be in the others flat. One of Malcolm’s testing meters was on the bedside table on his side of the bed in Jamie’s flat.

It was November and they were at Malcolm’s flat, stretched out together on the sofa. Jamie’s mobile began to ring. Malcolm muted the television. “Fucking Christ,” Malcolm murmured. 

Jamie rolled his eyes. He rolled off Malcolm and answered the call. 

Malcolm did not make a habit of eavesdropping, but he had never seen Jamie’s shoulders tense so tight or so quickly. Jamie moved over to the window and his body seemed to shrink as well. Malcolm had never seen someone have so much power over Jamie and this was only a phone call. 

Jamie ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course,” he said in a respectful tone that was unlike the respectful tone Jamie used in situations where respect was required. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” There was a long pause and then he ended the call. Malcolm counted to two before Jamie ran through about every swear word, piling them up on top of each other until they were indiscernible. “They only fucking call when they fucking want something,” he said, “and every fucking time, I say yes.”

Malcolm watched Jamie pace. “Who are they?” 

“My family,” Jamie said. “The only decent person is Gran. That’s why she rung. They know I can’t tell her to fuck off.” He tossed his mobile so it landed on a chair and bounced off onto the floor. “Ma’s dead. I have to fuck off to the funeral. I don’t want to fucking go. She hasn’t talked to me since 1985.” 

Malcolm ran his tongue across the bottom edge of his teeth in thought. He did not know what to say. His parents were both dead by the time he moved to London. His sister and niece were the only family he had. Her husband was tolerable in small doses. Jamie had been around them several times, but never mentioned his own family even in a passing, throw away comment. 

Jamie paced. “Ma’s – was – the reason I fucking ended up in seminary in the first place. I couldn’t say no. I could never fucking say no to either of them” His face contorted into a grimace. His hands balled into fists so tight, his knuckles lost their colour. He hesitated and then looked at Malcolm. “Come with me.”

“What?” Malcolm asked. He knew what, but he had not anticipated the request. 

Jamie could not stop moving. He had no means to direct the emotions playing out in his face and in the speed of his movements. Malcolm knew Jamie needed to destroy something and he would feel better, but there was nothing around them that Jamie could destroy right now. “Just fuck up there with me, we’ll listen to them say some shit that is fucking bollocks, and then we fuck off.” 

Malcolm grasped Jamie’s hand when Jamie got close enough. His thumb ran along Jamie’s skin, trying to be calming. He was more used to watching Jamie wind himself up and imploding in the office than actually trying to stop it. “Alright,” Malcolm said. 

It was a few days later when Malcolm and Jamie took the train to Scotland. Jamie timed things so that they reached the cemetery just before the mourners and body arrived. Jamie positioned the two of them so that they could blend into the procession. As they walked, and then gathered at the grave, Malcolm could feel eyes on them. As the blessing commenced, Malcolm looked at the people around them discreetly. Most appeared to be family, grouped into their own smaller immediate members. Jamie’s grandmother was the oldest person attending. Some people looked like they were friends or perhaps co-workers as well. 

"May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace,” the vicar finished. 

Everyone took a moment to gather their thoughts and then began to depart. Jamie walked over to his grandmother and Malcolm kept his distance. No one spoke to Malcolm, though he received many judging looks. He felt like most knew exactly what kind of relationship he had with Jamie and they all disapproved, and he honestly expected nothing less. Malcolm knew his own extended family would likely treat Jamie with the same stares and possibly ill intentioned comments. 

Malcolm looked past the mourners and observed Jamie with his grandmother. Gran wrapped her arms around Jamie, holding him tight. She kissed his cheek with affection. Jamie relaxed slightly as she spoke with one arm through his. Gran glance in Malcolm’s direction, still speaking, and then patted Jamie’s face. Malcolm did not need to be within hearing distance to know that Gran thought Malcolm was “very nice,” but “just a phase.” Jamie nodded dutifully, but the agreement was not in his eyes. There was another hug and then Jamie walked back to Malcolm and touched Malcolm’s arm before walking deeper into the cemetery. They walked past gravestones and mausoleums until they were near one of the corners of the cemetery and well out of view.

“It’s fucked up,” Jamie said. “I shouldn’t fucking be here.” Jamie closed his umbrella and then smacked it repeatedly against one of the largest trees near them. He kept hitting the tree until pointing the umbrella off to the side so as not to accidentally threaten Malcolm with it. 

“What do you need?” Malcolm asked. He did not know what to do. Jamie had small episodes of rage for the past few days. This was not the most violent, though the look in Jamie’s eyes was wilder than usual. 

Jamie grasped the umbrella and toyed with the top until it disconnected from the shaft. “I need to destroy this fucking thing,” Jamie began to rip the metal structure from the fabric, “and then leave.” Jamie was careful to pile the fabric on the muddy grass so he could scoop it up easily when he was finished. Once he ran out of fabric, he tried to bend and break the metal support system and the shaft of the umbrella, but he began to run out of steam. Jamie took a moment to breathe through his nose and close his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he looked at Malcolm. “Let’s fuck off.” He scooped up all of his mess and left with Malcolm under the same umbrella. 

A year passed. Malcolm and Jamie continued to switch between each other’s flats. Politics rattled on as always, the constant cycle of new and old. If there was not an election within a year, it would be the next. New Year’s Day found both of them in Malcolm’s bed. The room was light and Malcolm could feel Jamie’s finger sliding along his back, tracing nonsense patterns. Malcolm’s shoulders flexed as Jamie’s finger moved in a loose spiral between them. The clock claimed it was just past nine. 

“I’m tired of living in a flat,” Malcolm said. “I want to own the next place I live.” He rolled over so he could look at Jamie. He had been thinking about this for a long time now. Malcolm wanted to go home to somewhere without neighbours living just a wall thickness away after long days and nights at work. He made sure he had Jamie’s attention for the last part. “I want you to live with me. Stop all this fucking around with two flats.” 

Jamie searched Malcolm’s face. He moved closer. “You’re fucking serious.” He frowned, several thoughts visibly running through his mind. “We can’t have the same address on file.” 

“I know,” Malcolm said. “We’ll figure out a way to keep them out of our fucking business.” His fingers slid along Jamie’s fingers, up his hand, and up his arm, following the curve of Jamie’s shoulder. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

Jamie instinctively moved even closer. “I’ll think about it,” he said. 

It was a deceptively simple arrangement. The house was the right size and had everything they could need. There was a bookshelf lining one of the walls in the sitting room and all the various strange things Malcolm received from his niece for Christmas filled in places where books did not. The only people who knew they shared the house was Malcolm’s sister’s family. To the rest of the world, it was Malcolm’s home and his name was the only name on the papers. Jamie downgraded his flat near the office to upkeep a secondary address. 

Malcolm was the election coordinator for the next general election. The party leader remained prime minister but the party lost a handful of seats. Just before the election, Malcolm lost his mobile. He gained a secretary when Sam Cassidy found the mobile and returned it without prying into its contents. The party moved to another office complex and Malcolm was promoted to Director of Communications. Jamie continued with his job as senior press officer, a position he held for a year. Everything was coordinated and swift. Malcolm and Jamie kept fierce reputations, which ensured enough fear that no one dared dig into their personal lives. Things were steady and secure.

The first shoe fell six years later. Malcolm was lying on the sofa, his third night unable to sleep. His mind whirled with everything happening. The prime minister had resigned three days ago. Malcolm’s mobile kept buzzing and he was in an e-mail tag with several people, all of them trying to figure out how to save their own asses. Malcolm adjusted his glasses and re-read an e-mail. 

Malcolm almost dropped his phone when Jamie appeared at his side. Jamie looked like he only just woke up. He picked Malcolm’s feet up and sat down before placing Malcolm’s feet in his lap. He handed Malcolm a muffin. “Eat this.”

Malcolm took the muffin from Jamie. He was hungry and he knew his habits were sliding into the irresponsible category. “Six months. Six fucking months to go,” he said. “It’s like tripping over your own fucking feet at the end of a marathon.” Malcolm picked at the muffin, eating it slowly. 

“We all have that one thing that’s lurking, waiting to fuck us up,” Jamie said. 

“There’s so much shit to get through,” Malcolm said. He finished his muffin in time for the mobile to buzz again. “I’m going to need you to help keep things under control.”

“Wherever you need me,” Jamie said. “I don’t really have a fucking job anymore.” Jamie leaned back against the sofa and kept watching Malcolm. “Did you know this would happen?”

“Not like this,” Malcolm said. He sent a reply e-mail. 

“But you knew,” Jamie said. He studied Malcolm in the dim light from the single lamp turned on in the room. “How many secrets are you keeping?”

“If I wanted to dismantle the government, I could do it,” Malcolm said, “and fuck myself over while I was at it.” He looked at his mobile screen and rubbed his face. Even with his glasses, it was growing harder to read it. 

“Planning to live to fifty?” Jamie asked with a very small smirk. 

Malcolm snorted and put his mobile away. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What time is it?”

“It’s four in the morning,” Jamie said. He lowered Malcolm’s feet to the floor. He helped Malcolm up and tugged him to bed. They had enough time to get a few hours before continuing the recover from the prime minister’s implosion. 

The restructure kept them on their feet. There was a new MP to replace Hugh. Malcolm knew of Nicola Murray as one might know of a mole that looked questionable but never matched photos of cancerous moles. That was when the second shoe fell. It was an article in a tabloid on page five like the first sneeze before a massive cold. 

Malcolm stood at his desk, the tabloid opened to the offending page. Jamie stood on the other side of the desk. Neither spoke. Malcolm tapped a finger to the edge of his desk. “You know what you have to do,” he said and raised his eyes up from the page to look at Jamie. 

It was a page with various small teasers under the heading “Did You Know?” The next to last coloured box on the page read, “Did you know that the former senior press officer had a hidden past? A source claims they met for sex multiple times in the 80’s when Jamie MacDonald (43) was a male sex worker in London.” While not all things on the Did You Know section was true, things that were true had a habit of becoming bigger, messier stories once enough sources came forward. 

Jamie’s fingers flexed. “Why now? Of all the time these cunts could find this…” his voice trailed in anger. There was only one option. Both of them knew that Jamie had to leave the party. 

“This is where I’d tell you the bollocks I told Hugh,” Malcolm said. “Going quietly, saving dignity.” He was not going to say anything like that now. “I know you know what you have to do.”

Jamie held Malcolm’s gaze. His face contorted from grimace to a nose wrinkle to his eyebrows smoothing out and his lips moving, not sure what to say. “I’m not going to be some stay at home mooching bastard.”

“I know you’re not,” Malcolm said. “Get out now. Make these cunts,” Malcolm touched the tabloid with controlled anger, “forget you. Get back on your feet before they smell blood.” 

Jamie took a breath. “I was never in this office in this context. I got out when the prime minister fucked up,” he said. “I’m not going to be what fucks you over.” He slid his fingers along his tie, tempted to take it off since it felt more like the figurative noose tightening around his throat, but that would wait for later. “I’ll see you when you come home.”

The next few weeks, Malcolm began to realize that Nicola Murray was possibly a cancerous mole in disguise. He had to work with her. Their party was in disarray and had yet to find a strong leader. He was not sure how Nicola ended up in the position she was now, but if he could mould her into something workable, he could salvage the slowly sinking MP. 

It was Sunday and while Malcolm had pulled extra hours at the office that afternoon, he was home now. Jamie had cooked up pasta with vegetables and a spicy sauce. “I’ve found work,” Jamie said near the beginning of the meal, “but there’s a catch.” 

Malcolm looked up from his plate. He waited. 

“It’s in Scotland,” Jamie said. “The university is willing to let me teach despite everything that’s come out. They’re the only organization that will talk to me.”

Malcolm set his fork down. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to work,” Jamie said. “If I can’t work here, then I’ll go there.” He studied Malcolm. They were both trying to gauge and anticipate the other’s reaction. “I’m not going to make you go with me.” 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Malcolm said. 

“I can come back on holidays. Maybe a weekend here or there,” Jamie said. “Unless this is where this ends.”

Malcolm grew quiet. He ran his tongue along the top edge of his teeth. “It either ends,” Malcolm said, “or we take the next step.” 

Jamie blinked. He set his fork down and took a moment. “The next step is a civil partnership.” He ran a hand through his own hair and looked at Malcolm. “Are you asking?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes,” Malcolm said. “I have probably ten more years here, but I want to share that with you. I want to be with you when it’s over and in-between.”

Jamie slid his thumb along the handle of his fork but did not pick it back up yet. “Give me a week,” he said. “Okay? Let’s think about this before we fuck this up.”

Malcolm nodded. “Alright.” He picked his fork back up. It was not the first time the topic came up between them. However, civil partnership was a thing that they discussed infrequently and casually. Both of them had much to think about now. 

Summer found Malcolm and Jamie at a train station. They wore older, casual clothes that allowed them to blend into the people around them. No one looked at them for more than just one glance if that. 

“A year,” Jamie said. “If we don’t fuck it up, we can do anything.” 

Malcolm nodded. He let his fingers run down Jamie’s palm. The rings would come later. The civil partnership after that. It all depended on how a year with Jamie in Scotland and Malcolm in London functioned. 

Jamie kissed Malcolm, intense and brief. It garnered more attention from those around them, but not enough that anyone realized who they were. Jamie then slipped away, across the platform and onto the train. Malcolm watched the train until it left the station. 

The continuing aftermath of the prime minister’s resignation was a nightmare. The new party leader was Tom who had a strange sense of humour and lacked the charisma of his predecessor. Malcolm managed to keep his position because he was needed and he proved his worth. Things, however, were shaky, and managing Nicola Murray made everything shakier. Since Jamie left the government, Malcolm felt exposed and raw. He suspected he would still feel similarly with Jamie at his side. There was a lot of incompetency around him and it felt contagious. 

Malcolm and Jamie exchanged e-mails and phone calls. Summer became autumn. Malcolm’s hours at his desk increased until his hours were akin to the hours he kept during his thirties. It was not until December that Jamie could return to London during the university’s Christmas holidays. After that, it was Easter holidays, and then it was almost a year since Malcolm and Jamie first parted at the train station. 

Malcolm met Jamie at the station. He was not always able to do so, but he had planned for it. Again, they wore old clothing and kept out of the centre of things. Jamie reached up and twisted one of Malcolm’s short curls around his finger. “Grey and old,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Malcolm murmured and swatted the hand away. 

“I might,” Jamie said, but his voice was teasing. They headed home. 

Malcolm always shortened his hours while Jamie was home. He still stayed the longest in the office. On Sunday, they went out to a discreet restaurant with food that was not too pretentious. The night was on the colder side but not unpleasant. They walked past tourists and locals. It took some doing to find a place where they could exist quietly in the night air. A comfortable silence stretched on until Jamie said, “Put your hand in my pocket.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “I draw the line at getting you off in public.” Not that he thought that was what Jamie meant, but he could never tell with Jamie even now. 

“Not my trouser pocket,” Jamie said. “Coat pocket. Honestly. We’d end up on the fucking front page trying something like that.” 

Malcolm sighed and reached into Jamie’s left coat pocket. Inside was a box that was small in Malcolm’s hand. 

“I was thinking,” Jamie said, “that it’s been over twelve years. Twelve fucking years and we’ve not fucked it up yet. Why not become partners?”

Malcolm flipped the box open. It was a simple band, no frills, no decoration. It looked exactly like something Malcolm might wear. It looked like the types of rings they talked about off and on over the past year. “I could take some time off,” Malcolm said, his eyes moving from the ring to Jamie. “Take a holiday. We could go somewhere with an actual proper beach.” 

“White sand and palm trees?” Jamie asked teasingly. 

“Do you have one of these?” Malcolm asked. He had been thinking about doing something similar, but he had been aiming for New Year’s Day since that was when they decided to live together in the first place. 

“Yeah,” Jamie admitted. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out a similar ring, sized smaller but with the same basic style, the box likely left in his bag. “Like we talked about,” Jamie said.

Malcolm took Jamie’s ring, examining it. It felt real. He could feel Jamie’s eyes on him. Malcolm held the box out so Jamie could take the ring from it. 

To the next step,” Jamie said and slid the ring onto Malcolm’s finger.

“The next step,” Malcolm said and placed the other ring on Jamie’s finger. 

The pain in Malcolm’s jaw woke him in early January. It was disorienting. Malcolm lay still, trying to discern the cause and felt the room begin to spin while he remained stationary. His anxiety crept up along with nausea slowly. It was similar to any other time his blood sugar plummeted except for the jaw pain. It took mental coaxing, but Malcolm slowly pulled the covers back and sat up, taking a moment when the dizziness intensified. Malcolm closed his eyes and waited again. The jaw pain was slowly subsiding. He still felt dizzy and nauseous. He turned on his bedside lamp and fumbled for his test meter. His fingers faltered with the fresh lance, but he managed to get enough blood on his test strip to feed it to the machine. The jaw pain was gone when the machine displayed Malcolm’s blood sugar reading. It was low, but not emergency level. He reached into the candy bowl at his bedside table, picked a hard candy blindly, unwrapped it, and started sucking on it. 

“Are you fucked?” Jamie asked sleepily. 

Malcolm set the meter back where it belonged and threw the used lance and strip along with the candy wrapper into the bin beside the bed. With the jaw pain gone, everything felt less anxious and less urgent, but he was still dizzy. 

“No,” Malcolm answered Jamie. He reached down and ran the fingers of his clean hand through Jamie’s hair. They had only days left together and then Jamie would not be able to come back until Easter holidays. 

Once the candy was gone and Malcolm’s shoulders relaxed, Jamie sat up and took Malcolm’s hand closest to him. He began to rub his fingers deeply into Malcolm’s muscles, starting at the palm and working his way to Malcolm’s wrist and up his arm, trying to help promote circulation. “Your fingers are fucking freezing.” 

“That’s not unusual,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie reached Malcolm’s shoulder and then moved so he could reach Malcolm’s other hand accordingly and repeat the massage up the other arm. Jamie kept an eye on Malcolm’s face. “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. He stretched once Jamie finished and got out of bed. He stretched again. Everything felt stiff, but he had no more pain and he did not feel dizzy, though an undercurrent of nausea persisted, as it tended to do first thing in the morning before eating breakfast. 

Jamie let the covers slip from his shoulders. He rubbed his face and looked at the clock. It was an hour before Malcolm normally woke while Jamie was home. 

Malcolm leaned down and kissed Jamie’s shoulder. He mouthed up Jamie’s neck, and then kissed him, toying with the kiss before pulling back. “Breakfast and then shower?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He rolled out of bed and followed Malcolm. 

Jamie returned to Scotland a few days later. Malcolm returned to the longer hours. Nicola was not the first MP he dealt with that was initially inept. At first, he thought he would eventually get through to her. Except, by now, problems evened out instead of escalated. Malcolm knew the signs. The office started whispering. They scuttled about like toddlers who overflowed the toilets and were prepared to blame imaginary creatures. Sometimes he would give up and scare the information out of someone, and other times he just listened. If he stood just in the periphery, people kept talking always. 

Malcolm felt like they were constantly teetering. Whether Nicola’s daughter was underscoring the awkward education policy or Nicola’s husband was making their lives difficult, there was a constant feeling of being on loose footing. Malcolm had felt this way since January about more than just Nicola, but he told no one any of this. 

Jamie arrived on the train in March during his Easter holidays. Malcolm scaled back his hours again and they began to prepare for becoming official partners in the eyes of the government. The ceremony would be in front of a judge, something simple. Sam would likely be witness. There would be no family present. After that, they would go somewhere for a few days. That was the harder decision. White sand and palm trees described many places, though neither of them wanted to spend a day in an aeroplane or on a train.

They met for lunch when they could. Nobody looked twice at them. Jamie and Malcolm sitting down to some meal in the area was a familiar sight from their years of joint political service. 

“Everyone thinks this is a business lunch,” Jamie said. He snorted in amusement. 

“We still have to decide where we’re going,” Malcolm said. He looked forward to it more than he might admit. He had never had a good excuse to take a holiday. It was the right time to take one. No elections looming, no major crises. 

“Could go to Valencia,” Jamie said. “Somewhere in Spain. Short flight.” He picked about his sandwich. 

Malcolm thought about the suggestion. It was not the first time Spain had come up. It would meet what criteria they looked for. Malcolm’s mobile buzzed and he glanced at the screen. “You’ve got to be fucking…” 

“What?” Jamie asked. He could not see the screen from across the table. 

“Some cunt is trying to suggest Nicola should challenge Tom for party leadership,” Malcolm said. He began to eat faster, knowing if he did not finish lunch, he would regret it, especially since there would likely be an immediate confrontation returning to the office. 

“Tom’s not our best leader,” Jamie said, “but you don’t fucking replace a trained, half blind guide dog with a half-trained puppy and expect to get you where you need to go any better.”

Malcolm finished off his meal and stood up. “Valencia is fine,” he said. “Make arrangements for that unless you have a better idea. If we don’t make reservations now, we’ll have to pay out our arses for it later.” Malcolm set down the money for his meal close to Jamie’s hand, letting his thumb discreetly skim across Jamie’s skin on his way out the door. 

Squelching any uprising took so long that Malcolm got home late into the night as he might when Jamie was not home. Jamie was on the sofa, book over his face. Few lights were on and the television was off. Malcolm looked down at Jamie. It reminded him of the house they used to share full of mice and disrepair. He slowly picked the book up on Jamie’s face and set it on a table nearby. 

“Is the uprising dead?” Jamie asked. 

“For now,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie sat up on the sofa and then stood. “What time is it?”

“Almost three,” Malcolm said. He undid his tie and pulled it free before unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt. 

“Still sure you want to do this for eight more years?” Jamie asked. 

“I’ll do it until they no longer need me,” Malcolm said. He ran his fingers through Jamie’s hair with affection and caressed his fingers down along Jamie’s neck. “Right now, they fucking need me and they know it.” 

Jamie wrapped an arm around Malcolm’s waist under Malcolm’s suit jacket. He started coaxing Malcolm towards the staircase. “They might need you. What you need is to fucking sleep.” 

When Jamie left, they settled on Valencia. They would make things official in the summer the week after graduation week at Jamie’s university. Malcolm told Sam a month in advance and true to her ways, she kept it to herself. 

The civil ceremony was straightforward. Once it was over, Malcolm and Jamie were on a flight to Spain. The weather was excruciatingly hot, and it made it easy to adapt to the local lifestyle of avoiding the sun during mid-day. The window to their room was cracked so they could smell and hear the ocean. 

When Malcolm woke, Jamie was sitting up in the bed, watching the world through the window. His arms were loosely draped over the tops of his knees. 

Malcolm stretched and sat up slowly. He was relaxed more than he had been in possibly decades. He ghosted a finger up along Jamie’s spine, tracing the vertebrae. 

“If it wasn’t so fucking hot, I’d want to stay longer,” Jamie said quietly. He leaned into the touches. 

“Can always claim the anniversary is in December,” Malcolm said. He used his nails, scratching between Jamie’s shoulder blades. 

Jamie shivered and arched his back into the scratching. “Looking for another excuse for a holiday?”

Malcolm snorted. He slid his fingers down Jamie’s back and then he stretched out on the bed so his feet were by the pillows and he could see Jamie while also watching the sky. “Five years,” he said. 

Jamie looked at Malcolm curiously. “Five years sounds ominous without context.”

“I’ll retire in five years,” Malcolm said. “Switch careers.” He did not think he could retire and then stop working all together. The thought had been on his mind for months. Taking the holiday showed Malcolm that it was time to consider moving on to something else. 

“Is this the first sign of some sort of alien invasion here to possess and enslave us all?” Jamie stretched out on his stomach beside Malcolm. He slid his fingers up Malcolm’s chest. 

Malcolm snorted. His hand ran up Jamie’s arm, trying to have as much skin contact as he could. They had only a couple days and then they would head back to London and Jamie would leave for Scotland. They had to make their time together count.

Once back in London, it would be Christmas before Jamie and Malcolm saw each other in person again. Malcolm returned to a political implosion. It started with a health campaign that steadily unravelled. As the weather grew colder, the situation became shakier and shakier until Malcolm felt the one thing he could do was save his own ass. Even that was impossible. 

Malcolm’s inevitable exit a few months later was not graceful. There was shouting and threatening. He would not be forced out on anything but his own terms, but all his noise accomplished was chasing the vultures away from Sam long enough to get her coat and send her downstairs. It was not ten minutes after Sam got outside that Malcolm was on the pavement, still brimming with rage and stress. His face was flushed and he could feel his heart rate skyrocketing. 

“Those fucking cunts,” he seethed and started blindly in a direction, wanting to work off some of his frustration. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said to Sam, “for all of that.” He was always careful to remain respectful with Sam as she was with him. He also knew she had not deserved everyone ganging up on her because they were trying to force him out of the building. 

“Take a deep breath,” Sam said. “You’re bright red.” She kept up with him with a practiced stride. 

Malcolm tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs were not cooperating. He felt dizzy and nausea was not far behind. He reached out and grasped onto Sam’s arm to keep upright. She already had her mobile out and called emergency services. Sam sat him down on the pavement by the road. After a couple minutes, Malcolm’s jaw began to ache. It hurt worse than that one morning at the start of the year. 

They attracted attention. Malcolm kept his head bowed not only in case of vomit but it also helped the dizziness and kept him from being recognized. When the paramedics arrived, Sam followed Malcolm into the ambulance. Tests, oxygen, and drugs later, Malcolm was put in a room in the hospital for observation. 

When Malcolm woke up the next day, Jamie sat at his bedside, chin on his hand. He was scruffy and frowning, staring off at the wall. Sam sat on the other side of Malcolm. She looked like she had been home and back. 

“Feeling better?” Sam asked quietly. This turned Jamie’s attention from the wall to Malcolm. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. It was part truth, part lie. There was no pain in his jaw anymore or dizziness, but he never felt better in a hospital. 

Sam did not come up with an excuse. She stood up and bid them both a quiet goodbye to give Malcolm and Jamie space as she had so many times over the years. 

There was a long silence. Malcolm watched Jamie’s face contort, working through things to say. 

Jamie took a breath. “What the fuck, Malcolm?”

Malcolm sighed. “Don’t fucking hold back. You’ll feel better if you destroy something. They’ve got magazines somewhere.” 

“They’ll fucking kick me out if I do that,” Jamie said. “What did you think was going to happen when you fucking sleep four hours a night for months on end?” 

Malcolm did not have a good answer, so he remained quiet. He was never one for excuses when faced with people who actually mattered. 

“Knowing you, sometimes it was probably three,” Jamie said. He frowned and rubbed his face. “If you’re going to keep this fucking job, you can’t fucking do this.” 

“I don’t have the fucking job,” Malcolm said sharply. “I was out on my fucking arse.” 

“Sam didn’t tell me that part,” Jamie said. He looked like everything tasted sour. 

“I don’t think anyone in the office knows about this or knows I’m here,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie’s face darkened with all the implications of what might have happened. “Fucking cunts,” Jamie said. “Probably wound you up to wank off and then didn’t fucking bother to find out where you fucking went.” Jamie sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“Recover,” Malcolm said. “Go home when they let me the fuck out of here.” Beyond that, he did not know. He reached out to Jamie. Jamie met Malcolm’s hand half way, sliding his fingers firmly along Malcolm’s palm, and gripped it tight. Jamie’s muscles were tense. “I’m not going to drop dead,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie’s grip tightened. “You’re a fucking science experiment right now. I don’t know if we know what’s going to happen.”

Malcolm sat up slowly and worked his hand out of Jamie’s grasp so he could wrap his arm around Jamie’s waist. Jamie moved closer and leaned forward, wrapping both his arms around Malcolm, careful of the medical equipment. He buried his face into Malcolm’s neck. There were no tears, but they kept hold of each other for a long time after. 

Jamie could only come home on weekends. Once out of the hospital, Malcolm had the house to himself and doctors’ orders to take things slowly. Three weeks after Malcolm returned home, elections were called. He watched the party flail about without any grounding force. Tom was a joke and the opposition had the type of leader the party needed. Two weeks after the election date was announced, Malcolm had a way back into his old job. He jumped at the chance. 

Malcolm resolved to keep reasonable hours, though his hours were still longer than the average. It was the Friday after returning to work and Malcolm approached the house in time to watch a cab pull away. Jamie stood on the pavement and looked at him.

“It’s fucking midnight,” Jamie said. “You’re in a fucking suit.”

“They called me back in on Wednesday,” Malcolm said. “They need me to save the fucking village, but there are more dykes than fingers.” He unlocked the door and led them into the house. 

Jamie followed Malcolm inside and set his bag down. Malcolm could feel Jamie watching him as he locked the door. Malcolm knew what was coming. He took three strides and then Jamie moved forward, hands on Malcolm’s chest, half-shoving, half-guiding Malcolm against the wall with a gentler than normal motion. It was over a month since the heart attack and Jamie was still cautious with certain things. “I can’t fucking tell you what to do,” Jamie held Malcolm’s gaze, “but we both know this is fucking bollocks. What are you going to do when they force you out again?”

Malcolm curled his fingers around Jamie’s wrists, but did not move Jamie’s hands. “What am I going to fucking do in Scotland? I need to prepare to leave. I need to fucking set something up, and then leave on my own terms.”

Jamie sighed. “You’re addicted to the fucking bullshit,” he said. “You’re addicted to the illusion of power.” Jamie stepped back and Malcolm let go of his wrists. “You’ve always been this way. You’ve been at this gigantic pissing contest for thirty fucking years, and you’re pissing blood going, ‘I can fuck all of you,’ but you’re the one who’s fucked.” 

Malcolm watched Jamie pace. He sighed and stepped away from the wall. He undid his tie, rolled it up, and put it in his pocket. “Is it going to be a problem?” Malcolm loosened his collar. 

Jamie ran a hand through his own hair. He considered his answer, studying Malcolm. “It’s always been the three of us. You, the party, and me.” He sighed and walked past Malcolm, leaning against the wall. “I live with that, but can you fucking live with it?”

Malcolm sighed. He walked over and rested an arm on the wall near Jamie’s head, leaning against it while looking down at Jamie. “I want to fucking live,” Malcolm said. “I worked my arse off to get here. You know what it’s like to come to this city, to deal with these cunts. I want to leave on my own fucking terms.” 

Jamie sighed and ran his fingers through Malcolm’s hair. “You owe them nothing,” he said. “If you owe it to yourself, try not to fuck yourself over with it.” His fingers rested against the back of Malcolm’s neck. 

Malcolm rested his hands on Jamie’s waist. Their foreheads rested against one another. There was silence, deep breaths. All they could smell was each other. The kiss was mutual and slow. One kiss became three and the intensity increased. Jamie tugged on Malcolm’s hair and Malcolm’s hands slipped up under Jamie’s jumper and t-shirt. Jamie’s leg slid between Malcolm’s legs. He began to pull on Malcolm’s jacket, casting it aside. Malcolm pulled Jamie’s jumper and t-shirt together and over Jamie’s head. Jamie unbuttoned Malcolm’s shirt with practiced ease and tugged it off before changing positions with Malcolm, pressing Malcolm up against the wall. Jamie’s mouth was swift, persistent against Malcolm’s neck. He bit near the base and nipped where Malcolm’s neck connected to his jaw, mouthing and sucking in-between. Every mark was strategic, hidden where Malcolm’s collar would sit the next day. 

Malcolm moaned. His nails dug into Jamie’s skin when he shivered. He left faint marks on Jamie’s back and pulled Jamie closer. His hands slide around to Jamie’s chest, teasing his nipples. Then one of Malcolm’s fingers slide down along Jamie’s ribs until he found a strip of skin just under the left side of Jamie’s ribcage. He ghosted his finger around the spot, rubbing gently, teasingly. 

Jamie squirmed. “Fuck.” 

Malcolm repeated the movement, pressing his fingers firmly along the area. He began to rub the strip of skin deeply. Jamie’s fingers curled and he shuddered, letting out a low moan. Malcolm lowered his head and breathed into Jamie’s ear. “There are so many things I could do,” Malcolm whispered. “Where should I touch you next?” He rubbed his thumb into a spot at the nape of Jamie’s neck, eliciting another moan. Malcolm unbuckled and undid Jamie’s trousers. Once his trousers were at his ankles, Jamie stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Jamie worked Malcolm’s trousers off and they were left in their pants. 

Jamie’s hands slowly slid up Malcolm’s abdomen. Malcolm shivered and responded by caressing Jamie’s shoulders. Jamie pulled Malcolm down onto the floor. “Focus on me,” Jamie whispered. He pushed Malcolm on his back. Jamie kissed him and then worked his mouth down Malcolm neck and across Malcolm’s chest. Jamie moved lower and sucked at a spot on Malcolm’s lower right abdomen. Malcolm’s toes curled and an involuntary shudder ended in a growl of a moan. Jamie moved back and slid a hand up Malcolm’s inner thigh. “Focus on my hand,” Jamie said. He slid his fingers underneath Malcolm’s pants and then pulled them away. It was not the first attempt to get both of each other off since the heart attack. Yet, no matter the motions of Jamie’s hand or persuasion of his mouth and tongue, Malcolm’s erection wilted before climax. 

“Just…” Malcolm’s voice trailed. “Enough. You fucking tried.” 

Jamie moved off Malcolm. Malcolm sat up and rubbed his face. Neither of them looked at the other for a long time. Malcolm ran a hand through his own hair. They both knew the moment had slipped away. This was why Malcolm had gotten Jamie off during their attempts in the past two weeks. He knew Jamie likely thought if he got to Malcolm first, it might end differently, but it had not. 

“Give me your pants,” Malcolm said after a long, awkward silence. 

“What?” Jamie looked over at Malcolm. 

Malcolm stood up and held out his hand. “Give me your pants.”

Jamie slipped them off, stood up, and handed them over. 

Malcolm cast them aside where they landed somewhere between Malcolm’s trousers and Jamie’s jumper. “When we wake up, I owe you,” Malcolm said. It was late and all that was left was to head upstairs to bed.

Weekend visits became normal and happened every other week. Malcolm and Jamie took turns taking the long journey between the university and London. Sex slowly returned to normal as the time since the heart attack grew longer without a repeat incident. Once a year, they took a long weekend when Malcolm could chance it during a stretch of time Jamie was on holiday. 

The current party leadership was still a sinking ship. Now in opposition for the past few years, the party still struggled to find strong leadership. On a smaller scale, Nicola still floundered in her position, and it was time to cut her loose. What Malcolm had not anticipated was for someone to feel similarly about him. 

“They’re saying you leaked his fucking medical files,” Jamie said. It was almost midnight and Malcolm was at home with the video application on his phone enabled. He could feel Jamie searching his face through the device. Malcolm stretched his legs. He was lying on the couch, one of the ugly pink decorative cushion his niece gave him when she was seven tucked under his arm.

Malcolm knew Jamie wanted answers. He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “I didn’t leak it.” He watched Jamie’s eyes narrow at the hesitation. “I didn’t fucking leak it.” He was not going to admit over the phone that it was his computer that had leaked the document. Or that he had it on his computer to begin with. 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Jamie said. He seemed to understand the unspoken. “What were you fucking thinking?”

Malcolm had no answer that did not sound like an excuse. They both knew that Jamie would have to stay where he was. They were so strongly associated with each other, even in the minds of some of the younger staff, that it would be toxic to the path Jamie managed to create for himself. 

The inquiry started out like any other inquiry, but it began to collapse around Malcolm as it persisted. It was going to lead to a trial. It had to. Tickel was dead and it was the leak from Malcolm’s computer that perpetuated the suicide. There were reporters outside Malcolm’s house and outside the office. He had a plan, but the first person he had to tell was Jamie. 

Malcolm stared at his mobile for a long time. He law on the sofa surrounded by boxes he spent packing when the inquiry began to deteriorate. He ran his tongue along his lips and then he rang Jamie. Their greetings were short. Malcolm did not engage the video option. He let out a deep breath. 

“Just fucking tell me,” Jamie said. “I know you’re fucked.” He followed the inquiry. He knew the outcome. 

“They’re going to charge me with murder,” Malcolm said quietly, “among other things.”

“Fuck,” Jamie said. He was quiet for a moment. “They’ll reduce it down. You didn’t fucking stand there and order him to kill himself.”

“Even then, if I’m guilty, it could be life. It could be twenty years. My parents lived into their fucking sixties. Any sentence is probably fucking life.” Malcolm leaned his head back against the arm of the sofa. 

“But you didn’t physically leak the file,” Jamie said. “Can you prove it?”

“Maybe? Fuck. I don’t fucking know,” Malcolm said. They lapsed into silence. Malcolm did not have to see Jamie to know that his brain was churning over the information, trying to find a solution. “I want to sell the house,” Malcolm said. 

“What?” Jamie asked. 

“Sell the house. Sell the fucking house,” Malcolm said. “Even if I’m not convicted, there’s no point in fucking living here after the trial. I want to sell this place quietly. When I get out of this, if they fucking let me back into the daylight, I’ll just come to you if we’re still together.”

“Don’t say bollocks,” Jamie said. “I will meet you at the station no matter if it’s tomorrow or 2025. Fucking Christ. It better not be fucking 2025.” There was another stretch of silence. “What do you need me to do?” Jamie asked. “We both know once your trial starts, our business will be the press’ business. They’ll find out, they always fucking do.”

“I know,” Malcolm said. He honestly was not sure if Jamie could do anything. “I’m going to need you to get everything. It’s all in fucking boxes.” He paused and took a deep breath. It felt real. Overwhelmingly real. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Jamie asked. 

“Two hours ago. I’m fine,” Malcolm said. He paused. “I’m going to turn myself in tomorrow. Nobody knows. I’m going to send Dan Miller off to do fuck all and get everything done before the press can even catch my scent.”

Jamie grew quiet. It was an ominous kind of quiet. There was the sound of paper tearing into tiny shreds. “Fuck. When am I going to fucking see you again?”

“After the trial? During? I don’t fucking know,” Malcolm said. Malcolm could hear Jamie tearing up more paper on the other side of the conversation. A long silence stretched out between them. Jamie was still destroying easy to reach, inconsequential things. “I’m not going to admit to anything I didn’t fucking do,” Malcolm said. 

“Malcolm…” Jamie’s voice trailed. “Jesus fuck, Malcolm.”

Malcolm took another deep breath, trying to keep from feeling the stress and the anxiety. “Maybe nothing will fucking happen,” Malcolm said. “Maybe they’ll find me guilty of fuck knows, having bullshit on my computer where any cunt could leak it and I’ll see you in ten fucking years.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

Jamie sighed. “I can’t just fucking sit here.”

“I can’t make you do anything,” Malcolm said. “Let out your anger and then do what you think you should do.” 

They fell into silence again, listening to the other breathe. It was strangely calming, though negative emotions persisted. 

“I don’t want to go to prison,” Malcolm admitted very quietly. 

Jamie took a breath. “Neither do I.” The paper shredding noises stopped. 

The next day, Malcolm turned himself in to authorities and began to work his way through the justice system. The press took apart Malcolm’s backstory. Talk of growing up in a working class family and working his way to a point of power that such a leak could occur gave way to talking about the terror Malcolm instilled in people and his secret partnership with Jamie, whose past brought an even more salacious edge to the “human interest” side of the story. 

The trial dragged. Malcolm kept his face appropriate given the context of the actions around him. The trial left him tense and Malcolm felt his anxiety rapidly accelerate on the final day that he almost did not hear the verdict. 

The train ride out of London felt longer than it ever had, though it took no longer than any other time Malcolm made the journey. He was free now and left to his future out of government and party politics. His hair was longer and he forewent shaving a few days to use the scruff to obscure his jawline. His old clothes and older coat ensured no one paid him any attention longer than not even a second. 

When Malcolm disembarked, he had only what he carried on him. He looked around the station and found Jamie standing off to the side, out of the way of the passengers bustling around them. In three strides, Malcolm stood in front of Jamie. They wrapped their arms around each other. Malcolm bowed his head and Jamie buried his face in Malcolm’s neck. Jamie’s fingers curled against the fabric of Malcolm’s coat and Malcolm’s fingers threaded into Jamie’s hair. They held on to each other for a long time.

**The End**


End file.
